


Eternity

by bloodsugar



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Implied Relationships, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Open to Interpretation, POV Outsider, Real Madrid CF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2590553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsugar/pseuds/bloodsugar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>I wouldn’t want to see me without you even in a dream.</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>OR Iker Casillas and Sergio Ramos, as seen through the eyes of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eternity

 

 

_[**I**](http://footiez.tumblr.com/tagged/seriker) wouldn’t want to see me without you even in a dream_   
_If only you are next to me, **[I](http://www.kpoplyrics.net/vixx-eternity-lyrics-english-romanized.html)** don’t care if it’s a nightmare_   


 

 

 

It’s a day like any other – the second training session before an upcoming match – and Marcelo is early. He won’t make a habit of it, don’t worry, it just happened so today because he had some fruit for breakfast and then made his way out of the house early. And so, he parks his car in the Bernabéu parking lot, then makes his way towards the changing rooms, duffel bag swung over his shoulder. Inside, Gareth is changing into his Real jersey, while talking animatedly with Cristiano, who looks like he’s listening in with only one ear, the other trained on James. The young Colombian is changing as well, practically ready, tying his shoe laces and taking his sweet time with it.

 

Marcelo greets them all, then changes in record time – he is just fast today, what can he do, and heads out onto the pitch. Keylor, Luka, Jesé, Raphael and Karim are there already too, Marcelo briefly wonders how early they must have gotten up in order to be at practice before him, but then his attention is drawn to a ball flying in his direction. He passes it back and forth between himself and the others, making sure the passes are as accurate as possible when aimed at Jesé in particular, since he is recovering from trauma still.

 

Cristiano and his boyfriend-groupies arrive on the pitch as well, speaking in Spanish and English simultaneously and Marcelo sort of envies that ability of Cris’ to multitask so well. He tries to distract Cristiano by kicking a ball in his direction but Gareth receives that instead, stepping up and passing it right back to the Brazilian. Marcelo sighs, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t going to hurt Cristiano or anything, it’s just a ball.

 

He’s about to turn this into a proper joke, when Sergio and Iker come out, engaged deeply in a conversation that looks too important to be had before noon, but who is Marcelo to judge. He was early today, clearly something is happening to the universe. He sees Sergio burst into happy laughter, notices Iker’s arm around the defender’s back – firm, steady, lingering. They walk together toward the goal, Sergio chatting animatedly, and Iker looking like he is listening intently – whatever Sergio is so excited about much be important. Or maybe Sergio is just enthusiastic about his breakfast; Marcelo has heard him babble before about whatever delicious meal he ate. Or maybe, Marcelo thinks, they had breakfast together, if the fact that they look so focused on each other is anything to go by.

 

Regardless, Marcelo watches them for a long moment, grinning when Sergio completely disregard, or maybe doesn’t hear Ancelotti’s call for him to join the other defenders. Instead, he helps Iker practice some penalty shots, alternating between the two corners of the goal, some of his attempts easier for Casillas to catch than others. Sergio only joins the rest of the squad when Iker prompts him to, his gloved hands on Sergio’s sides, propelling him in the others’ direction, then patting Sergio’s ass when he finally strides away. Marcelo thinks he sees something of a skip in his walk, but nah, Sergio doesn’t skip – he hops, like an excited chipmunk.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Gareth’s been with Real for a while now, and his Spanish is still lacking. In fact, that is an under-statement. He knows his language skills are sub optimal, and is also acutely aware that a part of him doesn’t even care that much about it. The language he knows best, the one he uses on the regular, is the language of football. He doesn’t lose sleep over not knowing a Spanish word, or not being able to communicate fluidly with Isco and Sergio. Their English attempts are cute, he gets a laugh at it. Beyond that, people like Alvaro and Cristiano and Xabi – while he was still with them – speak English, so Gareth doesn’t feel alienated. And you know what? Even if the team mates who do not speak a lick of English do not alienate him in any way.

 

When Toni arrived, Gareth spoke to him about it briefly. “Don’t worry.” He’d said, looking straight into Toni’s hesitant, worried eyes. “I’ve been right where you are, and from day one they made me feel included. After all, we all speak football.” Football is indeed their universal language, and every Madridista on the team speaks it, so Gareth feels as good there as he can be.

 

But sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes he knew more Spanish, so that he could understand more. Not more of what is going on around him per say, but more about what is going on between some players. When James arrives, Gareth sees him with Cristiano – they speak in Spanish, easy and fast, almost completely impossible for Gareth to understand at times, even if he tries. He wishes then, he could understand what they were saying to each other, what was so amusing that Cristiano was smiling so wide, why was James giggling. They translate for him sometimes, and Gareth appreciates that, really, but it isn’t the same as getting it first hand.

 

When they all get on a plane, Gareth often sits beside Cristiano and they chat about anything and everything. The plane isn’t super spacious, so most of their team mates are also sitting near by. Every time, with close to no exceptions, Ramos and Casillas sit together, and Gareth sees their heads tilted toward each other, their voices hushed as they speak about something Gareth doesn’t quite follow. He catches some random words, here and there, not enough to get the full meaning. Whoever said Spanish is easy should listen to Sergio Ramos and Iker Casillas whisper something to each other, then come to Gareth and tell him ‘oh yeah, I totally got that’.

 

Or maybe it’s just Gareth. Maybe he is the only one who doesn’t quite comprehend what the captains’ conversations are about. Perhaps it is that way because those conversations are about more than exchanging words, perhaps it is an exchange of something else, something that Gareth does not know first hand and has yet to encounter. He sees Ramos rest his palm on top of Casillas’ hand, sees Casillas respond by leaning in and saying something into Sergio’s ear that makes the defender grin so wide, Gareth asks himself how the corners of his mouth haven’t split open.

 

They say something else, something about football, Gareth realizes, then Casillas relaxes into his seat, and Ramos watches him do so for a long moment, before doing the same. Gareth guesses Ramos can not be calm without Casillas’ influence. It is a fair assumption, but then again, Gareth could be wrong – he doesn’t quite understand Spanish things. He is happy focusing more on football.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

James is new to the team. There is no other way to put it, really. He was plucked out of Monaco with something that felt like a football tornado. But a good football tornado, one he would have jumped into himself, if they hadn’t called for him first. He is happy the World Cup was such a great experience for him, which put him on the map for everyone to see. The newly acquired fame is a little tough to get used to, James thinks of himself as someone more down to earth and all, but being a part of Real Madrid? It makes every extra camera, and every journalist reporting his every move worth it. James would end his career here, if the choice was given to him, but for now, he is new.

 

And as a new team member, there are things James needs to get accustomed to. The language barrier is one – most of them come from different parts of the world, and sometimes it’s a bit tough, cause James’ English and French are minimal, and he definitely doesn’t speak German, and his Portuguese is a bit erm… well… it isn’t perfect. Thankfully, most of the others speak Spanish, so for the most part he is set. With Toni and Gareth he communicates almost exclusively in a footballer sign language. That language that includes: smiles, awkward hand gestures, kicking a ball towards a player when you don’t know what he just said, and hugging a person instead of responding verbally. James thinks he is doing well so far, they all seem to like him.

 

When he first arrived, Cristiano, Cristiano friggin Ronaldo of all people, had taken him under his wing. James had spent that first month in disbelief, and the month after that thanking his lucky stars. Now they’re involved in a bit of a man romance, or whatever the term is, and James could not feel more welcome there, but that is not for the lack of trying on his other team mates’ parts. Marcelo asks him to hang out about once a week, and they always have the best time discussing Brazil and Colombia and even dancing some when they get tipsy enough. Gareth speaks to him in English, and James can tell it is deliberate, because when he tries hard to respond correctly, Gareth gets that look on his face like he is satisfied. Isco discusses the boss’ rotation system with James, making sure that James doesn’t feel like he is being robbed of minutes on the pitch.

 

But James’ favorite has to be whenever Sergio and Iker come to him, together; asking him how he is doing and if there is something he needs. James tells them every time, how everything is great and how he really means it – he isn’t missing anything. When he thanks them, Sergio would wink at him and smile, baring all of his teeth, his every smile so genuine James has to smile back. And Iker, smiling some as well, would pat James’ shoulder and dismiss his own kindness, would say something like “I’m the captain, I’m here to help.” Well, he is the captain, James knows as much.

 

He knows because he sees Iker live every loss, sitting quiet in the dressing room after a game, or on the bench before a match, his eyes downcast. Iker always looks like he is in his head, thinking about everything, even the things he can’t control, James can tell. But then, Sergio is always there too, James sees them together all the time. Iker would be heading toward the pitch and Sergio would go to him, arm around Iker’s shoulder, leaning in to say something in the older man’s ear. Sometimes James sees them hold hands, so briefly it’s almost ninja-like, but enough for James to see. And there are times when Iker’s talking to someone else, then Sergio goes to them, includes himself in the conversation, clearly needing no excuses to do so.

 

Their partnership is so easy, James thinks, that it is no wonder that they’re so good at making him feel included in the team too. They have co-existence mastered perfectly.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Fernando doesn’t see Sergio much these days. In fact, he never saw Sergio as much as he would have wanted to. Their friendship developed over the Spain NT matches and training, over many years, and since Fernando has been living abroad for almost 10 years already, this means they get to hang out a couple of times a year, for maybe a week at a time. Not very cool or convenient, but Fernando is starting to get used to having friends whom he can communicate with only over the phone, and Skype.

 

He misses Stevie Gerrard, a few text messages a year, and an errand call here and there does not suffice for Fernando. What he wants is to have dinner with the man, to sit and talk about nothing and everything. He wants so much more, more than anything he will ever have. That is the life of Fernando Torres, and it is, if he has to be honest, a life half lived.

 

Missing his other friends, missing Sergio also contributes to this. Sergio is a little ball of sunshine, always ready to do this and that, always active, always enthusiastic about everything. That is what Fernando misses in his life - bit of excitement over the small things. These days the only people providing this positive energy are his children. Fernando realizes that this means Sergio is essentially a child in a grown man’s body. Isn’t that what people love about him? It is what Fernando loves anyway. Whenever he talks to Sergio on the phone, he is 19 again, with big hopes, and big dreams, and a future ahead of him unknown in the best way. Fernando is 30 now; he can use a moment of temporary childishness.

 

When media ask him if he would go back to Spain, he tells them, sure he would, to Atletico – his home. And it isn’t a lie, per say, he grew up and grew into the person that he is in that club. He knows they’d have him back, and it would allow him to live with the illusion that he is back home. But Fernando knows that his life has changed so much, going back to his birthplace will not immediately provide a home. Maybe if he had never left it would be different, just like Sergio has been with Real for so many years, he doesn’t have to wonder what home is, he knows it in his bones.

 

Fernando thinks it’s good for him to be around Sergio, to see that innocence meet that certainty, to see a man so happy and secure in his life. Sergio admires Fernando so much, maybe even hero-worships him a little, but maybe Fernando is the one who can stand to learn from him. Learn about what it is to hang onto the things that you love, to hang on tight and to never let go, not even for a second, let alone for years. To learn about being so loyal, so dedicated to something – a club, a person, a team, a relationship, a goal, an idea – that you never have to wonder what would have happened if you’d never left, because you _never left_.

 

They talk on the phone a couple of times a month, usually it is Sergio who calls, but Fernando allows himself to be needier these days as well. Changing clubs does that for him, makes him more vulnerable in ways he isn’t particularly proud of. Sergio welcomes his phone calls, sounds so excited at the other end of the line, that Fernando can not bring himself to feel guilty for bothering him. They talk about their respective families, their kids, football; about their clubs, about wins and losses; about everything. Over the years they’ve both confided in each other so much, soothed by the distance between them – it is easier for Fernando to talk about the big things when he doesn’t have to do it with someone he sees every day.

 

Sergio tells him about Real’s winning streak and how much it means and about how Iker doesn’t like new tattoos. “Did he say so or are you just coming to this conclusion yourself?”, Fernando asks and Sergio tells him “No, man, he didn’t say but you know how it is, I can tell from the look on his face.” Yes, Fernando knows that they can read each other’s minds. After all these years together, it’s only natural. Or maybe it isn’t for everyone, but he has seen it with Sergio and Iker. They have that thing between them where they can have a conversation without saying a word – the type of skill Fernando has too, but doesn’t have a person to put it to use with. Takes two to develop that sort of telepathy, and Fernando is one.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

[N](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicola_Rizzoli)icola enjoys his job – his side job – as a referee a lot. It isn’t perfect, but it is a high class hobby. It pays well, it offers fun and excitement and responsibility. And he does enjoy the sense of power he receives from being able to dictate right and wrong on the pitch during matches. It’s been many years already, since 2007 when he first got started, and if he was suddenly taken back in time and forced to take that decision again, he would say yes without a even blinking.

 

There are things that come with the job that Nicola isn’t very fond of, of course – club owners with money trying to buy him; team coaches bossing him around and telling him about how corrupt he is; fans booing and whistling every decision he makes. It’s always something, something he is supposed to do, or not do; a wrong choice he made, how he blew the whistle at a wrong moment; he gives too many yellows or not enough. If he decided to consider every “advice” he has ever received before, during, or after a match, Nicola would have to also resign from his post and never even think about being a referee again. So instead, he doesn’t get hung up on it and just referees the matches he is assigned to. That is easy enough, because he trusts his own judgment.

 

Then, there are the things about the job that just baffle him. Or at least baffled him in the beginning. Being a part of the Champion’s League in particular gives him the opportunity to meet teams from many different countries and encounter, albeit briefly, their different cultures. Manchester City stand out to him with some questionable manhandling, and accents different than he gets to usually hear; Paris Saint Germain seem to build their entire line-up around Zlatan Ibrahimovic; Liverpool players sing the club’s song along with the fans in the tunnel; and Real Madrid kiss a lot.

 

Nicola isn’t homophobic, he is _Italian_. Italian men are above petty things like homophobia, generally, since they know that there is nothing wrong with being gay, and not every show of affection between men is a sign that someone is gay anyway. But every time Real Madrid is playing a match, every time without fail, when everyone is lined up in the tunnel with Nicola and his assistant referees, Ramos 4, comes to Casillas 1 – the captain – and kisses him on the cheek. He pats other players on the back or the shoulder, Nicola has noticed, but Casillas he kisses.

 

One time, Nicola makes sure to note Casillas’ reaction, and the man reminds Nicola of a cat who is, for a lack of a better term, tolerating being pet. Not that Ramos is petting Casillas, even though that has happened too, but it’s a pretty fair comparison to make. Nicola has to wonder – if the captain doesn’t like the kisses, why doesn’t he push Ramos 4 away? People say the Spanish and the Italian are similar, but there are still things they have yet to learn about each other.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When Sara first started dating Iker, she thought she knew exactly what she was getting into. She is a public figure too, and people seldom have a reason to forget this. She has had a lot of on camera time, almost enough to rival Iker himself, and she is a name the majority of Spain is familiar with. Being a successful reporter sort of works like that. In fact, for the people who are not very much into football, she may even be the more popular one, but she’s not thinking much of that.

 

Being Iker’s partner came with a lot of strings attached. Sara doesn’t mind, she expected that too. The fame, the attention, the fans; the jealousy, the rumors, the hate. She has been on the receiving end of it all in the past five years. And in the end, they have been a good five years. Iker gives her reasons to be happy every single day, especially since Martín joined their little family and made their house even brighter. Most days Sara thinks, between her and Iker, she is the lucky one, even though Iker tells her otherwise regularly. They’ve a relationship that flows so easily, that carries so little bad, and so much good, one might wonder how it is even possible to be that happy.

 

And it is possible to be so happy together, because Sara doesn’t have any unrealistic expectations of what it means to have Iker’s heart. More specifically, to have a place in Iker’s heart, because Iker’s heart in its entirety? It does not belong to her. And she is alright with that. There may have been a time in the beginning, when they’d first started dating, and she was so happy to be the only woman in his life, that she didn’t realize she wasn’t the only _person_ in his life. But that hadn’t lasted long.

 

Sara is not stupid, nor blind. It had taken her a whole of three months to realize and get over the fact that the love of Iker’s life was Sergio Ramos. And that it was quite possible that Sara would always come second to Sergio Ramos because she didn’t represent half of what the defended did.

 

Sometimes Iker talks to her about him, about Sergio. Over the years Sara has heard enough to understand that Sergio Ramos is more than just a man Iker loves. He is the epitome of football to Iker. Whatever language Iker’s heart speaks, the thing inside his chest that anchored him to this city, this club – that language has terms specific to Sergio Ramos. Terms Iker feels with his whole being, knows in his heart. Sara can be a part of it, too, but not like Sergio Ramos is.

 

She thinks she understands pretty well, in the end. It is more than the ten years Iker has known and been with Sergio. It is in Sergio Ramos’ dedication to football, to Real Madrid, to Iker. To Iker, who lives and breathes the club, Sergio Ramos _is_ Real Madrid, and Real Madrid is Sergio Ramos. They are a part of each other, eternally connected.

 

In the end of the day, Sara can understand a lot of what is behind Iker’s long term relationship with the love of his life - after all she is in a relationship with Iker, too. But she does not partake in what Iker has with Sergio Ramos. It is between Iker and Sergio only, unique to them in every way; something they’ve been living and continue to live every day. Sara, like the rest of the people they know, is on the outside looking in. That is as close as she can ever get to it.

 

 

 

 


End file.
